Ain’t That A VHIT
By Von C. Howard
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how life has a way of revealing both your gift and your weight sometimes at the same time. The very thing that makes you shine is often the same thing that can wear you down if you’re not careful. It’s a strange kind of combination, but it’s also what makes us human.
For as long as I can remember, my gift has been vision. I’ve always been able to see beyond what’s in front of me, to find potential in people, purpose in pain, and possibility in what others might call a lost cause. Whether it’s in the community, in my fraternity, at church, or in my professional life, I’ve always felt this pull to build, connect, and help things grow.
I can walk into a space that feels heavy and still see light. I can sit with someone who feels forgotten and see greatness written all over them. That’s not arrogance, that’s grace. God graciously gave me eyes for the unseen and a heart that beats for progress, even when I can’t necessarily find it for myself. And for that, I’m truly grateful.
Unfortunately, here’s what I’ve come to understand with time: the same gift that inspires me can also exhaust me. The same vision that allows me to build bridges can also become the reason I rarely stop walking. Because when you care deeply, really care, you carry more than most people realize.
When you’re a helper, a fixer, a leader, or a dreamer, you feel responsible for outcomes you can’t always control. You want everyone to win, everyone to heal, everyone to grow. And when things don’t move as fast as your faith tells you they can, it weighs on you. You start to feel like maybe you’re not doing enough, not pushing hard enough, not praying long enough.
The truth is, that’s the weight of purpose. It’s the reminder that even good intentions can become heavy if we forget to rest. The same heart that fuels your purpose needs time to recharge. The same hands that build for others need time to be still. The same mind that creates solutions needs moments of silence to hear God clearly again.
I’ve learned, and I’m still learning, that it’s okay to pause. To breathe. To say, “I can’t carry it all today.” It doesn’t mean the work stops or that you’ve failed. It just means you’re honoring your humanity in the process. Because purpose without peace becomes pressure, and that’s not what God intended for us.
I’ve also realized that part of managing the weight is recognizing that not every battle needs your sword. Sometimes your presence is the gift. Sometimes your example is the message. And sometimes your silence is the sermon. We don’t always have to move mountains; sometimes we’re just called to rest in the shadow of them until it’s time to climb again.
So yes, my gift is the fire to lead, uplift, and build.
And my weight is the reminder that I can’t do it all at once.
However, I’m learning to love both. Because both keep me grounded. Both keep me grateful. And both remind me that grace isn’t just what we give it, it’s what we must learn to receive.
If you’ve ever felt that tension between your purpose and your peace, know this: your calling isn’t supposed to crush you. It’s supposed to grow you. The same God who gave you the gift also gave you permission to rest.
So, as I keep walking this journey, I’m learning to balance the fire with stillness, the mission with the moment, and the purpose with peace. Because at the end of the day, both the gift and the weight are part of what makes me, and maybe you, exactly who we’re meant to be.